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  WICKED TEMPTATION

  A Wicked Novel ( Book #2)

  Linda Verji

  Titles Available In The Wicked Series

  Wicked Intentions (#1)

  Wicked Temptation (#2)

  Copyright © 2015 by Linda Verji

  www.lindaverji.com

  All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior consent of the author, excepting brief quotes in reviews.

  This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Rated 18+ for Explicit Sex, Strong Language and Minor Violence.

  ‘Should I smile because we're friends, or cry because that's all we'll ever be?’

  ~ Anil Wadhawan ~

  PROLOGUE

  She should've taken the first cry of the security alarm more seriously.

  Its wailing sound pierced the silent night like a team of screaming banshees ripping Misha Alexander out of her sleep. She sat up in bed with a sharp gasp. Her heart started a frightened dance as she realized that the wailing of the alarm was a sure sign that there was an intruder in her house.

  Quickly, she rolled off the bed to the floor, grabbing her phone as she went. But before she could dial nine-one-one, it rang in her hands.

  "Hello," she whispered breathlessly.

  "This is Winthrop Security," a calm male voice resounded over the line. "Is everything all right?"

  "No."

  "Is someone in your home?"

  "No… Yes… I.. I don't know." Misha took a shuddering breath to calm her racing heart. "I'm here by myself. Please c- have somebody come. Please come."

  "We're sending someone right away," the man said. "Please stay on the line with me."

  "Okay."

  If there ever was a time to regret moving back into her parents’ home, this was it. Everyone was against it. They claimed that this neighborhood was no place for a celebrity like herself. But Misha couldn't bear the thought of selling her childhood home. To waylay the security concerns she'd hooked up the house with the latest in security gismos.

  The man from the security company stayed on the line with her, calming her with his soothing voice, while they waited for help - or for her intruder to bludgeon her to death. Fortunately, help came first. Misha emerged from her hiding place to open the door when the cops knocked. They immediately did a quick walk through around the premises.

  "All clear," the female, uniformed cop said after they'd finished their assessment of her house. "No signs of entry."

  "And you checked everywhere?" Misha asked.

  "Yes, we did, and your neighbors say they saw nothing," the cop's male partner said. "In the morning you might want to check with your security company to make sure there are no issues with your system."

  "Thank you for coming to check on me," Misha said as she followed the officers to the front door.

  "No problem, Ms. Alexander. Good night."

  After waving them off Misha headed back to bed. Sleep wasn't easy to come by - not with the residual adrenalin still coursing through her. She tried counting sheep, imagined herself floating on a cloud, slowed her breathing - nothing worked. She thought of calling Danny - his deep voice was often enough to soothe her into sleep - but it was way too late to call him. And besides after their fight tonight she wasn't in a Danny mood.

  Nope, she was not calling him.

  Wasn't warm milk supposed to make you sleepy? Misha flipped on the bedside lamp and rose from the bed. Without bothering to put on slippers or a robe over her tank top and shorts, she headed to the kitchen. She didn't switch on the hallway lights or the kitchen lights; after all she knew the house like the back of her hand. Once in the kitchen, she headed directly to the fridge.

  "Oh, come on!" she exclaimed when she picked up the empty milk bottle. This had to be Danny's doing. Danny and milk were like an alcoholic and his vodka. He must've emptied her bottle while she was getting ready for the party.

  Still cussing him under her breath she trod toward the kettle. Maybe hot tea would help her slip back into sleep. She was filling up the kettle at the sink when the hairs on the back of her neck tingled as if to alert her that someone was watching her. Her sixth sense caused her to look up at the window, in time to catch sight of the reflection of a figure dressed all in black standing at the door.

  Instinctively she turned to face the intruder just as her would-be attacker raised an arm. It took Misha only a millisecond to process the glint of metal that came with the raise of that arm. On instinct she darted downwards. Just in time too because the loud crack of a gun being fired echoed in the room. The window above the sink shattered in a hail of glass. It was immediately followed by the wailing of the security alarm.

  With no time to wonder if the intruder was coming for her or to linger on the fear twisting her guts, Misha scampered to the other side of the island. She clutched onto the sloshing kettle of water like it was a weapon as she scuttled. But luck wasn't on her side; just as she emerged on the right side of the island a shadow appeared in front of her.

  Without second thought, Misha tossed the kettle. It crashed into the intruder's face with a satisfying thud. The weapon in the intruder's hand dropped like a stone, firing off a startling shot as it went down. The bullet whizzed by, missing Misha by the skin of her ear. The temporary reprieve was just what she needed to turn, lift off the floor and dash out of the kitchen.

  If she was working at normal common sense capability, she would've run to the bedroom, locked herself in and waited for the cops to turn up. But her flight response was in full control and it wanted her to get the hell out of there. Her heart thudding almost as loudly as the alarms wailing in the house and her breath coming in fast pants, she sprinted toward the front door. A few snaps of the locks and she was out of the house.

  The cold night air hit her as soon as she bolted onto the front porch. A part of her recognized that she was in her sleep shorts and a tank top, but the rest of her didn't care. Her priority was her security. Now, she wished she'd insisted that Geneva Vexer trim her side of the fence because then she could've vaulted over the hedge to bang on the elderly woman's door. In any case the only exit from her front yard was to sprint down her driveway to the main road.

  Blind panic carrying her footsteps, she raced towards the road. Her intention was to round the fence and go to Geneva's house but then she saw the light in the Miller's house, opposite hers, come on and decided to cross to their house instead. At least she wouldn't have to wake anyone up.

  She started to cross the road.

  And it happened in a split second.

  One minute she was running across the street and the next the hooting of a car stopped her in her tracks. She turned her head in time to see the car hurtling toward her. Shock rooting her feet to the ground, she watched the driver attempt to slow down. She could hear his brakes screaming as he raced inexorably towards her.

  Misha felt a certain calm fall upon her as she waited to die. Life was funny that way. Who would’ve thought that she would die almost the same way she'd killed her parents? This was karma's way of a correcting a cosmic injustice. At that moment she realized that she didn't care if she died. Death could take her.

  She closed her eyes.

  The sound of screeching tires rent the air, then the sickening thud of metal meeting human flesh.

  Pain.

  So much pain.

  CHAPTER 1

  ~ Four Days Earlier ~

  "… so there I am bored out of my mind. And this dude’s going on and on and on about how monogamy is a concept perp
etuated by prudes, fat housewives and religious nuts," Misha said as she shoveled scrambled eggs from the pan on to two separate plates, "and that evolution doesn't support it."

  "Do your dates always get that deep?" Danny, who was standing behind her, chuckled as he reached above her to open the cupboard. The pressure of the hard planes of his chest against her back was enough to heat her. Combined with the aquatic scent of his masculine cologne, it set her senses buzzing.

  It had always been this way.

  Few men were capable of making her feel as breathless or as feminine as Danny could. He topped her five feet nine by at least six inches and was broad enough that despite her ample bust and thick hips he made her feel as if she were delicate.

  However, Misha had trained herself to hide her reaction. Hunching forward slightly to give him space to grab two ceramic mugs from the cupboard, she scoffed, "This one was a first. Anyway, after all that evolution bullshit and insulting every woman on earth, he tells me that he expects his partner to be open to exploring other avenues of sexual gratification."

  "Uh oh." Danny chuckled as he moved away from her.

  "Uh oh is right. So I’m thinking there’s no possible way he's going where I think he’s going." Turning her head so they were eye to eye, she continued, "… Of course he goes there. Apparently, Mr. Date Of The Year only dates women who are open to threesomes and taking it up the…" She let her words trail off, embarrassed to vocalize the rest of that conversation.

  "Up the what?" Danny’s brow furrowed in confusion. But when Misha lowered her gaze to his ass then gave him a meaningful look, he blinked then his mouth fell open in shock. "No!"

  "Yes." She set two pieces of toast on each plate. "He went there. He even hinted that there might be contract signing in our future."

  Danny’s lips twitched and his eyes warmed in amusement.

  "Don’t you dare laugh," she warned. Too late; Danny burst into raucous laughter and despite herself Misha joined him.

  "It’s not funny." She chuckled as she crossed the room to set the plates on a small, round, glass-top table situated between four comfy-looking chairs. "I was so embarrassed, especially when the girls seated on the table next to ours started giggling."

  "I told you that guy was full of it." Danny snickered as he joined her seconds later with the mugs and a jar of coffee in hand. "Who the hell claims his favorite book is the Corpus Aristotelicum? I bet he can't even pronounce it right."

  Indeed Danny had warned her about going on a date with Lucius; painter extraordinaire, acclaimed life coach and dabbler in the philosophical arts as his CupidLives.com profile had snottily announced. But she was desperate and Lucius looked good in his picture – like a younger Taye Diggs.

  "That's not even the best part." Misha bit into her toast. "When I told him I didn’t think that that was an appropriate conversation to have on a first date, wannabe Socrates goes loco. Apparently I’m a soulless clone who is afraid to step out of the ridiculous boundaries imposed by society and release my real animal nature. Also, maybe I don’t do anal is because I already have a stick up my ass."

  Immediate anger flared in Danny’s eyes and there was an unmistakable note of protectiveness in his voice when he said, "Do you know where he lives?"

  It would’ve been a lie to say Misha wasn’t flattered. She loved how he was protective of her even though she was quite capable of taking care of herself. She smiled. "Thank you but you don’t have to worry about Lucius. I think I handled him quite well on my own."

  "What’d you do?"

  "I was very mature." She raised her chin. "I told him I was sorry he felt that way and wished him all the best."

  Danny leaned back in his seat and folded his arms over his broad chest. "Hmm." He inclined his head, watching her with a knowing smirk. "Come on. What did you really say?"

  "What?" she protested. "I can be mature."

  He gave her one of his patented eyebrow raises.

  "Fine." Misha grinned. "I went all Madea on his philosophical ass. I may be soulless clone but my throwing arm is pretty mean and a jug of iced water was sitting right there -ready to be thrown at his face."

  Danny returned her grin with a chuckle of his own that lit up his blue eyes with humor. Looking at him now, she marveled at how she could be just friends with such a beautiful man. Their friendship had started out as a cliché - girl investigates a spitball incident, suspects boy, boy proves to be innocent, boy and girl become friends.

  Unfortunately that's where their story ended. Their relationship had never crossed into anything more than friendship. Not that Danny hadn't tried to make it more. When they were fifteen he'd kissed her in an attempt to move their friendship into something more.

  It'd ended in disaster.

  Misha was in love with his older brother, Zeke, and didn't have the good sense to keep that information to herself. Danny hadn't taken it well and had proceeded to ignore her for close to a year. He'd only started talking to her when his father had died and she was there for him.

  But now looking at Danny, Misha had to wonder what had been wrong with her teenage self. They were both twenty-nine now. He was in his prime, and geeky-cute had transformed into devastatingly handsome. Was it possible for eyes to grow bluer? It certainly seemed like his had. One look into them was enough to make her heart jig and her pulse race. Raven black hair teased his broad forehead while long eyelashes shadowed perfectly sculpted cheekbones and a strong jaw-line.

  Gone was the gangly boy who was barely her height. In his place was a man with the trim masculine physique of an athlete. His black slacks clung to his long powerful thighs; his powder green shirt showcased his broad chest, shoulders and those hard muscular arms that flexed each time he tipped his coffee mug to his mouth.

  She flushed at the unnerving realization that she’d slipped into intimate scrutiny of him. Abruptly, she dragged her gaze away from his and back to the paper. No, she mentally shook her head. She didn't have any feelings for Danny except the friendly kind. Any romantic feelings she might've had for Danny were gone, she insisted to her skeptical senses. She'd accepted that she'd missed that boat when she still had the ticket.

  She was only appreciating his masculinity in a purely platonic way. Like a chef tipping her hat to a good meal or a plastic surgeon appreciating a good boob-job; because there was no doubt that Daniel Landa-Hollis was an exceptional specimen of the male species. Besides, it wasn't like he still had a crush on her.

  After his failed attempt at seducing her, he'd never tried again. Instead, he'd proceeded to date the whole of New York. Surely, any feelings he might've had for her fourteen years ago had been extinguished by all the women he'd dated.

  But what if it hadn't? What if…

  Stop it. Her common sense yanked her back into reality. There was no point in ruminating over a relationship that could never be. There was too much water under that bridge. And even if there was a chance for them to be more than friends, she couldn't take it anyway.

  Not unless she wanted him to die.

  Danny jerked her back into reality when he called out her name. "So Michelle…" Once he had her attention, a slow grin spread across his face. "Do you?"

  For a moment Misha was lost in his smile and his deep smooth voice. Her nipples pebbled in response. Beneath the table, she wiped her suddenly damp palm on her skirt. Stop it. She cleared her throat. "Do I what?"

  "Do you take it up the…" His brow lifted meaningfully.

  It was enough to jerk her out of the hypnotic trance he’d lulled her into.

  "Ew." Misha snatched the folded newspaper from the middle of the table to smack him on the side of the head. "Gross."

  Danny ducked just in time to escape the swinging newspaper. "I’m just curious."

  "Be curious in your own house," she retorted. "Otherwise you'll find yourself going to work hungry."

  "Please," Danny scoffed. "Do you know how many restaurants I passed by on my way-" he started but made a quick turnabout when Misha r
eached for his plate. Lifting it to safety, he laughingly apologized, "Sorry, sorry, sorry."

  "I should still send you to work hungry anyway," Misha grumbled. "It’s your fault that I had to go out on a date with that horny hipster."

  "How is it my fault?" Danny protested. "I told you not to go out with him."

  Her gaze searched his as she started, "If you’d just agree to come with me to-"

  "No," He interrupted with a violent shake of his head. "Absolutely not."

  She pouted. "Pleeease."

  "No," he insisted as he grabbed the paper and shook it open. "Get your ass back to CupidLives.com."

  "Come on. You’re going to make me scout all those dating sites, which by the way are like menus to serial killers, when you could help me out?" She paused dramatically before adding on a breathless whisper. "I could die."

  Danny was unmoved. He didn’t look up from the paper as he pronounced, "I’d rather cut myself with a rusty tetanus-infested razor and swim past a school of sharks than attend another one of your reunions."

  Every five years her extended family, all descendants of Apollo and Comfort Washington, organized a reunion complete with cookouts, competitive sports and speeches. Since she was the only living member of her nuclear family, Misha was participating on her cousins' team. Her cousin, Femi, had decided that this was their year to win the family trophy. Unfortunately Femi's sister, Kalila had deserted the family to go and get married in Nigeria. To boost their family's numbers, Femi had asked - or rather ordered, Misha to get herself a date or else...

  To be honest Misha didn't want to go to or participate in the reunion, but her parents would've wanted her to. But finding a partner was more difficult than she'd expected - especially because Danny, her preferred partner, was being such a girl about the whole thing. With only four months left to find a partner and train, she was getting desperate.